I wake up to discover we definitely broke a rule: I spent the night. Ella is fast asleep beside me, her hands tucked under her head like a pillow. I’m entirely too aware of how warm and naked her body is but continue to study everything about this moment, from the way her lashes fall on her cheeks to the line through her bottom lip, and the small bruise above her chest. I kiss the spot once, twice, and then when I go to kiss it a third time, she stirs.

I expect her to panic and consider ways for me to sneak out of the house, but instead a lazy smile lifts her cheeks and her eyes shine bright in the dimly lit room.

“How long does he usually sleep?” I whisper.

“Until I wake him up.”

I chuckle, appreciating this moment with her. It’s been a long time since I’ve woken up beside a woman, and longer since I’ve wanted to, and now, being here next to Ella, I realize exactly why. I’ve been waiting to meet her. Missing her though I didn’t even know her.

“What happened?” I ask. “How’d you get a bruise here?” I kiss the spot again, and Ella stretches out beside me, her legs running against mine.

“It’s nothing,” she tells me, but I recognize the shift in her eyes, the one that reveals she’s avoiding something.

I lean closer and lick a path along her collarbone. “Tell me.”

“It’s so stupid.” She wriggles beneath me as my breath fans across her skin.

I kiss the side of her neck then suck the soft skin.

“I got hit by a rock,” she tells me, turning her head to give me full access to her neck. But I don’t accept it. I push up on my arms and stare at her.

“How did a rock hit you in the chest?” I work to keep my voice from sounding abrasive.

“It was nothing. It doesn’t even hurt.”

I kiss the length of her neck, stopping below her ear. “I can do this all day,” I tell her.

She sighs. “You’re lucky I like you. If I didn’t, I’d probably find you manipulative and conniving right now. If you Hulk out, I’m not going to tell you anything ever again.” Her blue eyes look between mine, waiting for an agreement I can’t offer her.

“I won’t turn green.”

“It’s the temper part I’m more concerned about.”

“You’ve seen my temper at its worst, and it rarely makes appearances.” I assure her, but she doesn’t look convinced, and it drives me closer to the edge of my sanity. “What happened?”

“Remember that morning I was walking Shakespeare and Mrs. Grant went crazy?”

I nod, waiting to hear how the two are connected.

“I had caught her son and a couple of his friends over by the clubhouse. They were being jerks and throwing things at each other and at the clubhouse.” Ella’s gaze shifts to the window, and I wait several seconds until she looks back at me. “I told them I was going to send the board their pictures for breaking a window, and they got upset.”

“They threw a rock at you?”

Ella drops her chin, shooting me a glare. “You’re turning green.”

“They threw a rock at you!”

* * *

Ella

I stare at Coen, only half wondering if he’s truly going to Hulk out. He doesn’t just look upset. He looks pissed. I try to distract him by teasing him, kissing along his jaw.

“You lied when you said you don’t have a temper.”

“Why are you making a joke out of this?” he asks, pulling his head back.

“Because it’s not a big deal.”

“Ella. They threw a rock at you. That’s a huge fucking deal. Did you send their pictures to the board and tell them what they did?”

“Everyone knows it was them,” I tell him.

He takes a deep breath in through his nose and then releases it through his lips, and I wait for him, watching his anger recede.

“Want to come over for breakfast?” I ask him.

He smiles, but it’s sad, and I hate that I’ve ruined the moment—scratch that, I hate that some bratty, unsupervised kids ruined the moment.

“Go home. Shower. Get dressed. And come back over.” I bring my arms down and begin to roll out of bed, stopping when I hit the edge. “And later, when you’re not trying to prove to me exactly how unlike the Hulk you are, we’ll continue this.”

Coen wipes a hand down his face and lies back against my bed of pillows. “Why do I only own one pillow? I never knew I needed twelve.”

“There aren’t twelve.” For good measure, I lift one and hit him with it.

He sits up far faster than I expected, and I have to leap back, out of the comfort and security of the sheet and blankets. I cross my arms over my chest because it seems like the most mature way of covering myself.

“Ella Chapman.” Coen’s voice is that deep bass that’s been sanded so it’s nearly fully smooth, but when he speaks real low like he is now, you hear more of the gravel in it. He sits up, his chest defined and divided into segments of muscled flesh that make me want to devote hours to studying and appreciating them.

“My eyes are up here,” he says.

My face heats as I laugh so hard my shoulders curl inward.

He stands, a smile that has been consuming far too many of my thoughts spreading across his face, squaring his jaw, and making his brown eyes shimmer with the morning light. Coen takes each of my hands in his, and without words, I hear him asking my permission.

It’s been so long since I have felt sexy or wanted, and it goes against everything inside of me to want to expose myself to anyone, even myself, but Coen doesn’t make me feel ashamed or embarrassed of even my darkest scars, neither internal nor external. My muscles relax, and my grip on his hands tightens as he slowly moves my arms from covering myself.

Words are left unsaid, but with Coen, the intention is always clear, and when he runs his fingers from my neck, over my breasts, and down my stomach, I hear his body telling me how beautiful he thinks I am.

“Will your mom approve?” he asks.

“She’d take the news better if we’re dressed.”

Coen laughs, and the sight makes me smile that same stretched grin that makes the muscles in my cheeks ache.

“All my mom has ever wanted was for me to be happy. My dad is a little tougher. Lead with how you want to make over your backyard, and he’ll be sold.”

“Backyard. Got it.”

“What about your family?”

Coen smiles. “My dad and brother would actually be quite happy to meet you looking just like this.” He shakes his head. “My brother is going to require supervised visits around you. But my mom and sisters will love you. And they’re going to adore Hayden.”

I appreciate him always considering Hayden, knowing we’re a package deal. However, the mention of his name awakens a flurry of chaos in my stomach as I consider him having to go through a formal introduction like that, especially when he doesn’t feel accepted or even liked by his stepmother.

“What are your plans for the day?” he asks.

“I don’t have any.”

“Perfect.”

Grinning, I squeeze his hands, which are still laced with mine. “Why? What are your plans?”

“Let’s take Hayden and Shakespeare to the beach.”

“You’re serious?”

His eyes hold a hint of humor but his eyebrows lower and he shakes his head just slightly. “About what?”

I catch my lower lip with my front teeth before I say “us” because it feels so strange to use the term. After all, it has always been used in reference to Hayden and me.

“Let’s go,” I agree.

I see Coen’s grin flash seconds before I close my eyes. I let him kiss me until every thought becomes nothing more than a forgotten piece of my past and his lips and touch become engraved to memory.

I wait until Coen’s truck disappears around the block, then let Shakespeare out, shower, and dress before I wake Hayden. Like most mornings, he’s groggy and dazed while I lie in bed beside him, asking about his night and how his dreams were. It’s a weekend morning tradition I hate to even consider becoming a memory.

“What do you think of going to the beach today with Coen?”

Hayden’s eyes light up, and he pulls the covers off. “Can we go now?” he asks.

Laughing, I ruffle his short hair and then kiss the top of his head. “Get dressed, and then we’ll have some breakfast and get going soon.”

“Yes!” Hayden jumps up and down and then tears into his closet and starts rummaging through his clothes, looking for his swimsuit.

I head to my room, smelling Coen on my rumpled sheets. I know I should be considering how I’m going to tell Rachel about him, but right now I just want to enjoy this moment and the unadulterated happiness that’s consuming me.

With our bags packed full of extra clothes, toys for Shakespeare and Hayden, and snacks for the few hour drive, we pull out of my driveway in Coen’s truck, our sunglasses and smiles ready for the sun and waves of the ocean.

I convince them to play a dozen rounds of ‘I Spy,’ and a single round of finding the alphabet in chronological order on license plates before Hayden calls it quits and pulls out his iPad and begins watching a movie.

My phone buzzes and out of habit, I flip it over and find a text from Patrick.

“What’s wrong?” Coen asks, glancing across the cab to me.

Looking behind Coen’s seat at Hayden with his earbuds in place, I turn back to Coen. “Patrick wants to know if Hayden can attend a birthday party for his dad tomorrow.”

Running a hand through my hair to pull it out of my face, I set my phone down, not wanting to reply to him right now.

“Does he do that a lot?”

I look to Coen for clarification.

“Ask to have him.”

A breath leaves between my teeth, making a sound that exposes he doesn’t. “No. Patrick loves to be a dad when it’s fun and games, but he loves the fire station and the notoriety more. Always has.”

“Is that why that rule was created?”

I nod and then shake my head, more annoyed as I think back over the years. “Even last weekend when he had him, he was gone the entire time. He’s supposed to have him two days a week though, and I don’t think he’s actually had him for both since November.” I look over to Coen to read his reaction to me openly talking about Patrick. Feeling my stare, he glances at me and reaches over, covering my hand with his and stroking the back of my hand with his thumb with reassurance. “He doesn’t even know what a cool kid he has.”

“You can always say no,” he says.

“I know. But then I wonder if it’s worse because then Hayden doesn’t get to see his dad.”

Coen squeezes my hand. “It sounds like there isn’t a single right answer.”

“Wouldn’t it be nice if there was?”

“Want to know a secret?”

I look over, the thought of having Hayden leave for his dad’s tomorrow and my darkened mood comes to a halt. “What?”

“That first day I met you,” he looks over to me again, a grin tugging at his lips, “when you asked if we were gone yet?”

My laughter fills the cab of the truck, recalling the moment. “In my defense, I had gone on a really bad date that day and had sworn off men like five seconds before you guys got there.”

His thumb brushes along my knuckles. “Well, Rachel’s chimney … my friend, Justin, he had no idea if anything was wrong with it. He just wanted to meet you guys. Or maybe have me meet you guys since he’s married…”

I chuckle. “I don’t know him that well, but I can see it being the first.”

“I know him too well, and I can too.”

Our laughter and fingers join, and I’m grateful that he’s changed the subject, successfully lightening the mood. We spend the rest of the drive exchanging stories and laughter.

Once parked, we grab our bags and cooler and make our way out onto the sun-soaked beach. And though Coen had laughed at the giant sand umbrella I packed and Hayden had groaned about it being pink, they both seem grateful when they see the amount of shade it offers.

“You didn’t even bring your laptop?” Hayden looks around at our things twice before stopping on me.

“Nope.”

“Coen might have to hang out with us more often,” he says.

Coen’s close enough I feel his breath on my shoulder. “I think you’re right.” He reaches forward and opens a bag he brought. “What do you say we let your mom rest and we work on throwing a curveball?”

Hayden jumps up, spraying my lap with sand. Coen leans forward, his cheek scratchy from not having shaved this morning against my skin. “I happen to know how little sleep you got last night because some big meathead kept mauling you.” His eyebrows dance up and down. “You should nap. I won’t let him out of my sight, I swear.”

“Why? Is the meathead planning to come back over?”

“I’m going to wear these two out so I have all fucking night.”

I lean against him, enjoying the circles he’s drawing on the bare skin exposed by my T-back. “Don’t be offended, but it’s not really in my nature to trust anyone with Hayden.”

“I know,” he tells me. “But, I also know what it’s like to lose someone you love more than yourself, and I swear—I won’t let that happen. Ever.”

He begins to stand, and I grip his wrist to tug him back down. I have to swallow back words that my heart put in order before my mind could edit them. I smile and lean closer, placing a kiss softly on his lips to prevent them from coming out in a tumbled mass.

Coen’s palm covers the underside of my jaw and wraps around to my cheek, hot against my skin, but his lips are cool from having drunk a bottle of water from the cooler. It’s a contrast I want to explore further, but Coen pulls back his head turning. I follow his gaze and see Hayden with a ball in his hand, his brow lowered.

I shoot up from my seat, but Coen catches my hand.

“You ready to play?” Hayden asks.

Panic is flooding my chest.

What did he see?

What is he thinking?

Is he okay with this?

Does he feel tricked? Betrayed? Upset?

“He’s smart, Ella. I think he already knew.” Coen places a kiss just above my temple. “I can talk to him, or if you want to do it first, I’ll wait.”

A warm breeze carries the small hairs that don’t fit into my ponytail, and Coen gently brushes them back, allotting me the time to make my decision.

“I trust you,” I tell him.

“Rest,” he orders.

Coen jogs through the dry sand, his calves flexing with each step. When he reaches Hayden, he places a hand between his shoulders, and Hayden’s smile grows, and then they’re laughing. The exchange is so easy and comfortable, my concerns begin to float away, leaving me with the warmth of the sand through my beach towel and the crashing of the surf.

I wake with a start, and realize the crying that woke me up belongs to a baby nearby. My heart is rattling in my chest, seeing the shadows are now stretching far longer than they had when we arrived. I tear my sunglasses off and toss them haphazardly toward my bag and scan the beach. On the third pass, I stand up, my heart has moved to my throat.

“Hayden!” I yell, creating a shade with my forearm.

“Right here, Mom.”

I swing around and find Hayden and Coen walking with Shakespeare, snow cones in hand.

My hand and heart both fall back to my chest, and I release a long, deep breath before moving toward them.

“What have you guys been up to?” I ask.

“Well, after you passed out, we played baseball for a while, then Coen moved the umbrella so you wouldn’t get sunburned, and then we took Shakespeare for a walk down the boardwalk and found a snow cone shop.” Hayden replays their afternoon, and while my fear is still very much alive, I breathe deeper seeing the genuine smile that’s stained a deep blue from the treat.

“I really did pass out, didn’t I?”

“It’s okay. Wait till I show you my fast pitch. Coen taught me how to throw a two-seamer and a forkball.”

For the first time since they returned I look at Coen, and his apologetic smile settles me more than Hayden’s recount. “Sorry,” he mouths.

My heart is still racing, but watching Hayden lean against Coen’s chest and recount his dreams of pitching a curveball make that spot in my chest grow bigger, warmer, and stronger, and for the first time in so many years, I find myself wanting to trust someone.

On our way home, we stop for burgers and milkshakes, our time in the sun making all of us hungry though mine was shaded. When we get back into the truck, Hayden falls asleep in the back using an extra towel as a pillow.

“I think your plan worked,” I tell him.

Coen takes my hand and lifts it to his lips, where he presses a kiss to the sensitive skin that covers my knuckles. “Today was a great day,” he says.

“Did Hayden ask about us?”

He lifts his shoulders. “Kind of. He asked if I like you.”

“That’s it?”

He shakes his head and shrugs one of his shoulders. “He asked if I knew his dad.”

“Why?” I ask.

Coen loosens his grasp. Holding the back of my hand, he brings the inside of my wrist to his face and kisses a short trail toward the inside of my elbow. “I think he just wants to understand how everyone is going to fit in the picture.”

“How are you feeling?” I ask. “I mean, it kind of makes it a little more real, doesn’t it?”

He nods. “It does, but you know, I was worried about it as soon as I realized I had feelings for you, and then when I went up to DC last week, I realized I could keep worrying about it and waiting, or I could do what my sister did best and just grab the situation by the balls and jump.”

“Does that make Hayden and me a pair of testicles?”

Coen laughs, tightening his grip on my hand. “You’re definitely both my Achilles heel.”

When we arrive at my house, that space in my heart, the one reserved for when Hayden climbs into bed with me and just wants to lie beside me or holds on a little tighter when he hugs me, grows bright when Coen opens the back door of his truck and ever so gently lifts Hayden into his arms and carries him inside.

I unpack the truck and am emptying the cooler when Coen appears.

“Coen DeLuca,” I say, closing the lid of the cooler. “I don’t want to sound like one of those crazy stalkers you speak so fondly of, but I kind of like you.” I step so close that our chests brush.

“I don’t mean to sound like one of those arrogant assholes you wasted too many hours with, but I know.”

I laugh so hard I have to lean against him, and I use the unnecessary excuse to wrap my arms around his shoulders.

“He likes you too.”

“You don’t know how grateful I am that he does.”